


It's Easy as 1, 2, 3

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [24]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Nostalgia, Pre-Canon, Time Skips, ill shout this headcanon from the rooftops until the day i die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Race was the one who taught Spot how to read all those years ago





	It's Easy as 1, 2, 3

**Author's Note:**

> im nostalgic and projecting and Also ive had this headcanon for so long and i needed to write something real for it

“Why are ya squintin’ at it like that, kid?”

A hand clapped down on Spot’s shoulder and his knees nearly buckled from the force of it. Huffing, he turned his head to see a rather sheepish Paulie smiling over his shoulder. 

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Shrugging him off, Spot looked back down at that morning’s paper, he hadn’t realized it but he was squinting pretty hard. “‘M tryin’ to read it.”

Paulie’s hair brushed over Spot’s neck as he leaned farther forward to get a good look at the headline. “‘Immigration rate goes-”

“No!” Spot snapped, flipping the paper over so the words were hidden. “I wanna do it by myself.”

Rolling his eyes, Paulie crouched down so he was on Spot’s level, they’d been having this argument more and more as Spot slowly started selling by himself.

“Ya can’t just look at the words and expect ‘em to make sense, you’se only seven,” Paulie started, “you gotta get a teacher or somethin’, that’s why kids are supposed ta go to school-”

“Not my fault I ain’t in school,” Spot muttered, tracing a circle into the ground with the toe of his shoe; he wasn’t looking at Paulie but he heard him sigh and stand up again. A hand ruffled his hair.

“No it ain’t.”

Spot bit at the inside of his cheek, looking hopelessly down at the headline for a few more seconds before letting out a sigh of his own. He looked up again at Paulie, squinting again at the rising sun behind him. 

“Can I sell by myself today?” he asked quietly, making his voice as small as possible, partly playing off the hint of guilt he’d heard in Paulie’s voice a few seconds ago to get his way. “Please? I sold with ya yesterday.”

He saw Paulie considering it, shifting his weight back on his heels as he looked around the distribution center; the weather was nice enough, and the headline, from the bit that Spot heard, would be good practice for him to do by himself. Him and West didn’t like him going out on his own more than once or twice a week though, they said he was too little. 

When his gaze got back down to Spot though, he dropped his shoulders and Spot grinned wide at the giveaway.

“Fine, but be back by sundown or you’se with me until ya twelve,” he conceded, watching as Spot just barely managed to lift his thirty papers by himself. “And don’t be hangin’ out by the racetracks, we ain’t got any boys down there right now.”

Spot nodded, hefting his bundle of papers up on his shoulder and squinting up again, a smile on his face this time. “Thanks, Paulie.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.” 

They both started off in different directions then, Paulie to get his own papers, and Spot dragging his bundle out the gate. 

He wasn’t that little, Spot mused as he waited idly to cross the street, he knew some of the kids barely older than him that could read just fine. 

“Pape, miss?” Spot coughed out, letting his shoulders sag a bit underneath his bundle as a well off looking woman walked up to his curb. 

She frowned, placing a hand over her heart. “Of course dear.”

Trading her penny for a paper, Spot skipped off across the street again. He could do just fine on his own.

* * *

The rest of the selling day had been good to Spot, he’d managed to sell out during the business crowd, getting a few extra pennies tossed his way as all the men made their way back from work. One of the nuns had even bought him a roll around lunch, a privilege he was rarely privy to, and with a couple hours to kill before he had to be back at lodging, he drifted toward the Brooklyn Bridge, the breeze coming off the water being enough to draw him in. 

As he approached though, he slowed his steps as a kid, a little taller than him but not looking all that much older, was sat down with his back against one of the main bridge supports, chewing on an apple and reading a paper. He wasn’t any newsie Spot had ever seen before, and almost as quick as he’d slowed down he sped right back up.

“Hey, kid!” 

The boy looked up quickly as Spot approached, making no move to get up. Actually, he had a lazy smile on his face, and took another bite out of his apple just as Spot got in front of him. 

He’d been right, the boy looked no older than him, and he definitely wasn’t from Brooklyn. “Who’re you?”

Mouth still full of apple, the boy tried to say something, stopped himself, and held up a hand to Spot as he chewed and swallowed, seemingly unintimidated by Spot’s presence. “Racetrack Higgins, nice ta meet ya.”

He grinned toothily up at Spot, raising a hand for a shake but not making a move to stand up.

Spot, on his part, had no idea what he was really supposed to do here. He’d seen Paulie deal with a handful of random kids now and then, usually ending with him taking them to the bridge so they could make their way back home. But Spot and Racetrack, apparently, were already at the bridge. So, tentatively, Spot shook his hand and sat down by his feet.

“Spot Conlon, why are you’se in Brooklyn? I ain’t ever seen you before.”

“Finished sellin’ over in ‘Hattan, didn’t wanna go back to lodging,” Racetrack said, sitting up a bit. “Why are you out here by yourself, ain’t you a little young?”

Jutting out his chin, Spot snapped back, “I’se seven, I can sell by myself just fine.”

“I’m seven too.” 

Racetrack grinned again and kicked lightly at Spot’s foot. He was awful friendly, and Spot found himself relaxing bit by bit; he  _ was _ only seven after all, he wasn’t going to soak him or anything. 

And it turned out that he was just starting to sell by himself too, and had been using some of the same tricks as Spot to sell his papes, faking sick and all that. He was quick too, and they were going back and forth like he and Blue did sometimes back at lodging; it was nice, and he said he could call him Race or Racer if he wanted to, like they were friends. 

After about an hour or so, when the light was just starting to fade, Race started to stand up, Spot with him. 

“I should get goin’, Jack’ll kill me if I’m not back by dark,” he drawled, kicking his forgotten apple core down the embankment toward the river and picking up his paper, “and he wanted me to practice writin’ before bed, too.”

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something in a language Spot couldn’t understand, but he’d gotten his attention with the writing part.

“They teachin’ ya how to write?”

Blinking, Race looked at Spot with a frown. “Well yeah, they teach all’a us over there.”

Spot bit back a pout and looked down at the ground, kicking at a stray pebble. “They don’t even teach us how ta read over here.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Race started laughing. Spot looked up indignantly, glaring and catching Race’s eye. Upon seeing Spot’s face, he choked back his laughter and held out a hand.

“No, I’m not makin’ fun of ya,” he gasped, “it’s just funny that they got newsies that can’t even read their papes!”

It was sort of funny, and Spot cracked a bit of a smile despite himself. “Yeah, I guess.”

His voice must have given away his embarrassment though, because Race stopped laughing fully and took a step forward. “If ya really want, _ I _ could teach ya.”

“Really?” Spot asked, hope crowding his voice. None of the Brooklyn boys had ever offered, even though most of them knew how to read, something about them being too busy. Spot had pretended to understand.

Race nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I could come here after I’m done sellin’ and bring an extra pape. it ain’t too hard, I taught Elmer and he can read the whole pape now, even the hard stuff.”

Spot was grinning like an idiot, and the deal was made. Race would walk over whenever he was done selling, and Spot would come on days when he got to sell alone. He’d felt bad about making Race wait around if he couldn’t come at first, but Race said he liked it over here anyway. They shook on it too, a real promise, and both made to leave.

“I’ll see ya soon, Spotty,” Race quipped, the nickname bringing a hint of a blush to Spot’s face, the growing darkness hiding it well enough. 

“See ya Racer.”

And that was that.

* * *

They managed to keep that deal for a good year or so, at first only getting two or three lessons in a week since Spot sold with Paulie or West a lot of the time. But, he got a bit, just a bit, of a growth spurt throughout the year, and they started letting him go on his own a good four or five days a week by the time winter hit.

It was harder then, for him and Race, hunched over a paper trying to block out the wind, Spot sounding out words and Race using his limited vocabulary to tell him what they all meant. But they made do, Spot grabbing them hot chocolate from one of the carts if he had any change to spare, and Race even brought an old hat for Spot over from Manhattan. 

By the time the weather started thawing out, Spot could read almost the whole paper without missing a letter, and Race started bringing over the few books they had at his lodging for more practice.

It was on one of these spring days when Spot walked up in a better mood than usual, he’d read to West the night before, who’d eyed him suspiciously before ruffling his hair and telling him he was getting smarter everyday. 

When he approached their spot by the bridge this time though, Race wasn’t alone, and he slowed his steps, face falling, as he saw Paulie talking with an older boy, who had a tight grip on Race’s collar.

“There he is,” Paulie said, turning to face Spot, rubbing at his temples as the other boy cuffed Race around the back of the head when he mumbled something under his breath. 

“Hey Paulie,” Spot said carefully, rocking on his heels in front of the older boy, who narrowed his eyes at him. 

“‘Seems like ya should have a little more to say to me than that, kid.”

“I-”

“I was teachin’ him how to read,” Race cut in quickly before Spot could say anything, seeing him struggle awkwardly with the words. The other boy slapped the back of his head and Race turned toward him, squirming out of his grip. “I was! That’s all, we wasn’t sellin’ or nothing on this side of the bridge.”

“Spot this is Bear,” Paulie said, gesturing to the boy holding Race, “he’s the leader of the Manhattan boys, and I guess ya already know Racetrack.”

Spot nodded slowly, watching Bear let go of Race and look down at Spot. “I followed Racer afta’ he was done sellin’ today and he came all the way over ta Brookyln, says he was meetin’ you, is that right?”

“Yeah,” Spot answered, hearing another deep sigh from Paulie, “he’s been teachin’ me how to read.”

“I told ya!” Race exclaimed, crossing his arms and yelping when Bear kicked at him half heartedly. “What?”

Paulie cleared his throat and got Spot’s attention back. “You know we ain’t supposed to have kids from the other boroughs over here, s’not good for business.”

He was speaking gently, and Spot struggled to keep his stare, guilt worming its way up his throat. They hadn’t meant any harm. “Yeah, I know.”

Paulie and Bear spoke in low voices above him and Race for a minute or so, and Race looked over at Spot, still somehow smiling like a idiot, and, seeing that Spot felt bad, started mocking the way Bear was gesturing while talking to Paulie. It got a bit of a smile out of Spot, and Race looked like he’d just about won a million dollars. 

A hand rested on Spot’s shoulder and he looked up, smile fading, at Paulie.

“So we’se struck up a deal, me and Bear.”

Spot’s eyebrows shot up, and from the corner of his eye he saw Race perk up a bit too.

Bear continued, “Since we don’t got enough boys to follow Racer around and make sure he stays put, we’se decided that he can sell at Sheepshead durin’ the day, and as long as he gets back before dark, ya can continue your little reading lessons.”

Looking up at Paulie for confirmation, Spot held back a burst of laughter when he nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Damn, that’s great!” Race piped up, Bear rolling his eyes at the slight curse. 

“Yeah, yeah, but none for tonight, we gotta be gettin’ back.”

Tugging Race again by the collar, Bear shook Paulie’s hand quickly and started for the bridge.

Over his shoulder, Race called out, “See ya tomorrow, Spotty!”

“See ya!”

The pair started across the bridge, and Spot turned back to Paulie, who was looking down at him with a frown. 

“Ya really wanted to learn to read that bad, huh?” he asked quietly, cocking his head to the side.

Spot nodded slowly. He felt sort of bad about the whole thing, sort of not, he needed to learn somehow. 

Paulie didn’t say much else, nodding to himself before leading Spot back toward the Brooklyn lodging, pointedly ignoring, it seemed, the dumb smile that couldn’t seem to make its way off his face.

* * *

Years passed. Race sold at Sheepshead everyday since that meeting between Paulie and Bear on the bridge, continuing to teach Spot how to read until there was nothing he couldn’t figure out, and then moving on to writing. On most days, even if they didn’t have a lesson, the pair found themselves together.

Race taught Spot poker, Spot taught Race how to shoot a slingshot, and they both got a little bit taller. Maybe Race a more than Spot in that respect. 

One day, when they met at the Brooklyn edge of the bridge, Race took Spot’s hand and dragged him to an overhang, it was rainy and there weren’t that many people out even if they had been in plain sight. 

“What are you-”

Race pressed his lips to Spot’s so suddenly he barely managed to suck in a breath. The shock kept Spot from reciprocating, and for some reason he didn’t quite pull away either. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t.

After a moment though, Race pulled back, fear in his eyes and starting to take a step back. “I-I I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“No,” Spot rushed out, then rushed forward, and then he was kissing Race, and Race was kissing back. It was amazing.

And then a yell sounded, not at them but it was enough to bring them back to reality, and they pulled apart. Both breathless.

Race spoke first.

“We don’t gotta tell anyone.”

“We don’t.”

And they didn’t.

* * *

“Pape, miss?”

The woman looked Spot up and down for a moment, steely reserve breaking enough to exchange a penny for that day’s headline. People had been buying more, in the weeks after the strike, and for once he didn’t find himself worrying if all of his boys had gotten something to eat. 

“You’se lucky you’re able to read that headline, Conlon.”

Smirking, Spot turned around to see Race leaning against the wall of an alley, lighting his cigar. When he caught Spot’s eye he mirrored the smirk.

“Y’know since, I taught ya and all.”

Spot shifted his papers to get them all in one arm and took a few steps forward. “Got a life debt or somethin’ on that?”

Race shrugged, exhaling a puff of smoke in Spot’s general direction. “Somethin’ like that.”

He looked a little ragged, bruises from the strike still visible, but healing, Spot had made sure of that. They stayed a good couple feet apart, the carriages rushing by serving as a reminder to watch themselves; it felt familiar.

“You lookin’ ta stay over with us tonight? A little late for you to be headin’ back,” Spot noticed. The shadows had cast Race in a heavy shadow and a chill was starting to take over the air. 

Race shrugged again, cocky facade dropping for half a second as he looked at Spot. “I was thinkin’ we could go over to the bridge?”

“If ya want,” Spot said carefully, “got a deck of cards or anything? We got some time to kill.”

Brightening, Race walked out of the alley, Spot following, and started digging in one of his pockets. “I was thinkin’ something else.”

“What?”

Race had fished a small paperback out of his pocket, and Spot saw his feet dragging despite the chipper demeanor. He was exhausted.

Race let his eyes wander everywhere but Spot’s face, picking at the edge of the worn book nervously. “I was thinkin’ we could read, like we used ta, y’know?”

He looked up when Spot bumped his shoulder a little roughly, looking over to see a wide smile on his face. 

“Yeah sure, you could use the practice,” he quipped, snatching the book from Race’s hands, “ _ A Tale of Two Cities _ , might be a little hard for ya.”

“Shove it, Conlon.”

Spot laughed loudly, hand brushing with Race’s for a brief second before they both pulled away. The night was a ways off, and for some reason, it felt an awful lot like it had when Spot was seven. It felt like warmth was seeping into him. That was Race’s doing, he figured. 

**Author's Note:**

> ayy i can tell if i like this yet but time will tell i suppose,, hope u guys enjoyed tho!!
> 
> leave kudos/comments and ill combust i stg


End file.
